Memories in the midst of absurdity

Ken's Barbershop on Corunna Rd. Home of a haricut memory

I used to get my hair cut by a guy named Ken at a place called Paul’s. As I walked through my childhood neighborhood near Ballenger and Corunna roads yesterday, I walked into the barbershop and recognized the face of the man who used to cut my hair 40 years ago. It was Ken. He didn’t recognize me, though he recognized the names of some of my family members who have long passed.

Ken bought the barbershop from Paul and of course, changed the name, but for the most part, the barbershop looked very much the same as it did a few decades ago. It seemed brighter than I remember, and the television was color (flat screen) instead of black and white. The next door neighbor is no longer Frank’s Westside Market, where I bought baseball cards and Koegel’s Vienna’s, but rather a new Walgreen’s.

There are other changes in the neighborhood. It is still full of families, and kids still play in the street. Unlike the city’s north side, there are plenty of homes in good repair with kept yards and signs of life. Unlike the neighborhood of my youth, however, there are burned out buildings, the schools are closed, and the job opportunities are different.

When my grandfather retired from Buick City, a now-vacant five mile stretch of concrete, he would walk four blocks to the Phillip’s station to pump gas. My grandmother, after World War II ended, worked in at Clothin's Cleaners around the corner from my family’s home on Knapp St. There were banks in the neighborhood, an overflow of students in the neighborhood elementary, and future professional athletes coming out of Southwestern High School. Rick Leach threw passes to my cousin Kenny before going on to start as a freshman quarterback for Michigan, and then play for the Tigers and a few other MLB teams, perhaps as a catcher?

Some of these things are missing now. Buick and AC are gone from Flint, as are the jobs that drove the American economy and the union that made sure the men and my family were well compensated for hard work. That is one aspect of Flint that is not missing. Folks here know how to work, and they are tough.

Most have roots in the south, members of families that moved to Flint in the 1920’s and 40’s. From Kentucky and Tennessee and Mississippi, blacks and whites – these Michiganders are tough and seem somehow mired in this identity as it appears that the infrastructure around them crumbles. If American capitalism, and often, the people themselves, continues reducing our Midwestern cities to ashes, the people of Flint are a remnant of folks who never quit. Despite violence against the union heroes of the 30’s and 40’s; despite segregation and bussing issues up through the 70’s; despite the dubious nature of media fascination with Flint in the 80’s and 90’s – Flintstones have not quit.

I must wonder though, as I listen to people that have the means to move on, and to people that don’t, what happens when a citizenry is tougher than the edifice? As the city stands in history, it may be poisoned water that creates a scenario much like that of Katrina and New Orleans. Even tough people have to abandon their homes when the water is not drinkable, the system not trusted, and the homes become impossible to sell.

Underneath the chaos that exists now as people work through the significant problems of getting water to people who can’t get to distribution points, the city that put America on wheels has significant transportation and logistics issues due to the poverty and transportation obstacles related to moving cases of water to homes every single day. Some families need to get a few cases of water every day, and while the water is free – transportation is not. Think about carrying cases of water on a bus, or walking with two cases of water on your shoulders, with a stroller, or with three kids in tow.

This reality – that people are going to be forced out if for no other reason than that the decay of the infrastructure and the reputation of the water system - has people thinking of what the city will look life ten years from now, and how to transition to the reality of a city that was once home to 200,000 may be home to 50,000 or fewer of the folks most marginalized by the economy and political structures of our day.

Yesterday, a member of my host-family drove me around the city. I was surprised to see how generally clean and still stable most neighborhoods seemed, and the number of gardens that were in evidence. I drove past a few urban farms and greenhouses, but they were not operating. However, I was introduced to a man named Mark who was just deeded ten acres or more of land on the north end, along with buildings. We may work on chickens and goats together in the city! We talked about a transition and economic and nutrition models for the folks that cannot transition out of the city, even if they want to. I am a farmer of sorts – and I hope the farming models develop into something that will take hold. Detroit is one example of how to use vacant space in a productive manner.

This is something I would like to work into the seminary programs at Earlham and Bethany. A new kind of ministry, a new way of doing church that focuses on ethics, relationships, and the gospel as an alternative to the kind of economics and politics that leave a path of destruction in communities across the country. It seems to me that there would be folks interested in farming as ministry model of seminary learning. Sing me up to lead the Bible and Beekeeping class.